Draw Me
by strawberrymacchiato
Summary: AU. "Relax, she's just an ordinary girl. An ordinary girl." Quinn is a brilliant but low-key artist whose life was pretty much perfect. Perfect, up until the day a girl named Rachel Berry walked into her studio, and demanded to be painted. Naked. Faberry smut. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hope everyone enjoys painting:P SMxo**

* * *

Quinn paced up and down her studio trying to think of some excuse-_anything _to get out of it.

Technically, it wasn't too late to cancel, even though it would be a massive social faux pas to turn down an opportunity like this.

"Relax, she's just an ordinary girl. An ordinary girl."

The mantra had already begun to wear off. Damnit. Quinn slammed her fists against the wall, sighing as she felt beads of anxiety trickle down her face. Maybe she'd forgotten about her and that weird tension that used to exist between them in high school.

Of course she had!

She was on Broadway, for heaven's sake! She had far more important things to worry about than some petty high school drama. Besides, six years was an awfully long time. She'd probably even forgotten Quinn's face. Forgotten the way Quinn would leer at her for wearing those utterly despicable mansocks topped off with the ugliest skirt known to mankind. In the meantime, Quinn would be amazed at how the poor girl managed to produce outfits that deserved gold medals for dorkiness. And then, downright appalled with her own brain for actually finding them hot.

"Don't think about that."

She warned herself, feeling her teeth clench and her eyes slip shut against her will. Call it chance, destiny, kismet, or whatever you will. But Quinn called it karma. Oh yes, she still remembers the exact day her manager strolled through the door of her studio and told her the Broadway phenomenon, Rachel Barbra Berry, had requested her artistic expertise. It was 12:43pm, and she'd broken her favourite porcelain cup from the shock of it.

Before that moment, her life had been perfect. Really, it wasn't like she needed some anchor from her past to be dragged up into her consciousness, and remind her of all those heightened discussions in bathrooms, the intense gazes she'd desperately tried to forget about, and the haunting and very physical dreams that just wouldn't go away.

But karma was a bitch, and the very mention of Rachel Berry's name had alighted those dreams all over again. Every single desire that had plagued her brain was back with a vengeance. Whether it was her cornering Rachel alone after school to kiss her quietly until she couldn't stand it, or whether Rachel was the one undressing her slowly, item by item, torturing her slowly before granting her the release she hungered for so badly-the past had suddenly become her present.

Karma was a bitch, and it wasn't finished with her just yet, because at that moment the doorbell chose to ring.

"Fuck."

Quinn felt her body press harder against the wall and she slid down it helplessly.

"Hello?"

God, the voice! It hadn't changed one bit. Quinn's head sank between her knees.

"Is there anybody there? I've come for an appointment scheduled for today, but I'm a very busy woman so if you could open the door I'd really appreciate it."

Even her verbose way of speaking hadn't changed. Quinn smiled, shaking her head. She pushed herself up off the floor and took a deep breath.

"You can do this."

She said to herself, and began to walk towards the door.

"Oh, I get it. There's nobody actually here and I've wasted my breath ascending ten flights of stairs to attend the studio of some artist which just happens to be located in _the _most obscure backstreet of New York, but hey, since you obviously _enjoy_ making people of _real _stature suffer when you get the chance, you conveniently forget to be there at the appointed time. Well you know what? Stuff you! Enjoy your cigarette and coffee while you inhale turpentine with your fellow eccentrics, pig!"

Quinn's mouth opened in amused anger as she turned the knob and slammed the door open.

"Oh, so you are he-"

Rachel's eyes widened for a moment, and the purse in her hand dropped, along with her jaw.

"Oh my God-what...what are _you _doing here?"

She seemed unable to look away. She remembered her. And not only did she remember her but judging from the way she was looking at her, she wasn't pleased to see her at all.

Quinn's mouth opened to say something, but her brain, of course, had other ideas.

The moment her eyes locked onto Rachel's she was lost.

Lost, in a sea of brown coloured irises that made her head swim, make her body feel like it was falling, completely unable to do anything about it. Her legs? useless. Her arms? Jelly. Those soft locks of chestnut hair that bounced against Rachel's collarbone, just above her slender, toned arms, the barely exposed cleavage hidden behind her designer dress, the perfect curves of her waist...Quinn felt herself swallow loudly when her gaze landed on Rachel's legs, even longer and more bronzed than she'd remembered, and bit her lip when she realised dark, merciless eyes were glaring down at her.

"_You're _my painter!?"

Rachel all but shrieked. Shit, she'd replied?

"No. No _way. _This has to be some kind of joke. My stylist told me he'd arrange the best artist in New York to do a painting of me, and the best he can come up with is _you_?"

At that, Quinn had to scoff.

"Rachel, I _am _the best artist in new York."

Rachel's eyes immediately flicked back towards hers, and Quinn silently cursed that day Rachel Berry had come into her life and completely destroyed her ability to speak in a normal tone.

"Bullshit! This is bullshit!" Rachel screamed, as she began to wave her arms around her head in exasperation.

Soon, she was kneeling on the floor and feeling around her bag, probably for her cell. She flipped it open instantly and began punching the buttons.

"Um...you could at least say hello."

Rachel glared up at her for the second time, this time as if she had stolen her limited edition autographed Barbra Streisand poster (goodness knows how she still remembered that about her), and seconds later she was huffing and puffing like a madwoman.

"This can't be happening. This _cannot _be happening."

She tried dialling the number again. Quinn sighed, and her hand finally fell away from the door.

"Hi Rachel, long time no see. Yes, I'm well, thanks for asking. Oh, by the way! There's no reception in my building!"

Rachel shook her head in exasperation and ignored Quinn completely.

"Why am I not surprised!? I knew that black cat on the footpath this morning was a sign."

She lifted herself up, pushing off the old floorboards, snatching her back angrily as she began to storm down the corridor.

"Watch out!"

Rachel tumbled forward, but then Quinn was there behind her, clutching her arms and cutting short her cry of surprise. The unexpected and sudden contact made Quinn shiver.

"There's a loose nail in the floorboards."

She whispered softly in her ear, disgusted with herself at how natural it felt. She swore she could almost Rachel rolling her eyes. But she could _definitely _feel Rachel's body tense up as she whispered to her.

"I..."

Rachel said, the resignation in her tone evident.

"I think I need something to drink."

Quinn smiled, pulling her body upwards, and tried not to think about how soft and touchable her back and shoulders looked in that black strapless dress she was wearing.

"Right this way."

She let go of her, hating the way her fingers dragged off her back so reluctantly. Quinn was convinced that after all this time the lust she felt for Rachel would have disappeared. Clearly, she was wrong. She hated being wrong.

Without looking back she paced ahead right into her studio, trying to control her breathing, and carefully manoeuvred her way through the obstacle course of books and brushes towards the kitchen. Hopefully she wasn't overdue for the water bill again, that would be a major obstacle for her upcoming paintings. She opened the pantry door and rummaged through the cup-a-soup packets that kept falling and narrowly missing her, until she saw it.

"God this place is a _disaster_."

Quinn's grip on the packet in her hand tightened. She always did have a habit of getting under her skin. She moved towards the sink so she could fill up a jug with some water.

"I guess I'll just sit on this rusted paint bucket, huh?"

"I have a couch, you know?"

She said at last, plunging the tea bag into the jug with more force than necessary. She sneaked a quick glance at Rachel, who was awkwardly traversing a stack of old magazines.

"Oh right. _Couch. _Because a storage ottoman is a _couch._"

Quinn said nothing and continued to plunge the bag deeper into the jug.

Up and down.

_Don't you dare go over there and slap her because then you won't be able to stop touching her._

Up and down.

She heard a quiet shuffling sound the next second, and grinned. Even the great Rachel Berry had to settle for second best _some_ of the time.

"I didn't know you'd be the one painting me, you know?" She said with a hint of annoyance. "If I did then I probably wouldn't have come."

Ah. That explained a lot. Quinn gingerly walked over to where Rachel was sitting, trying hard not to drop another porcelain cup from her nerves. She handed cup of the tea over, making sure their fingers didn't accidentally touch, and took a seat opposite her. She shuddered silently. Honestly, how could anyone _not _be annoyed with themselves in a situation like this?

_Look at you, you can't even control yourself, can you?_

She bit her lip, forcing down her urge to pin Rachel down then and there. There was only one way to deal with this.

"Do you mean that?"

Rachel was dead silent for a moment. She was probably shocked at Quinn's sudden iciness. Good. At least she had some sense of control of the situation. Being a bitchy cheerleader in high school sure had its perks sometimes.

But then Rachel looked down at her cup, and her expression became incredulous.

"What on earth is _this_? Oh my God, are you trying to poison me?"

Quinn laughed bitterly, running her fingers through her messy hair.

"It's herbal tea, Rachel. I don't drink alcohol, you should know why."

Rachel went silent again, looking between Quinn and the cup before she finally decided to take a sip.

"Anyway, I get that you want anyone _but _me to paint you, so I'm not gonna keep you here longer than necessary. You know where the door is."

She said, standing up abruptly and indicating with her hand. She went over to the kitchen counter to begin pouring herself some tea, but when she looked back Rachel hadn't moved a millimetre.

"What are you still doing here?"

Quinn shook her head and pulled a biscuit out of the jar on her bench. Chocolate chip always did suit herbal tea best for some reason. Actually, maybe it was just that her mom used to bake them so often, or maybe it was the aroma, so intoxicatingly-

"I...I want you to paint me."

The biscuit slipped straight out of her fingers onto the bench.

"What?"

Rachel shifted uncomfortably on the ottoman, and put down her cup of tea on the floor. She had decided to go mute again.

"Ok look Rachel, I don't have time for our little games anymore so-"

"I want you to paint me. Naked."


	2. Chapter 2

For a few seconds, all Quinn could do was stare. And blink rapidly. She had dreamed of this exact scenario that many times that she was half expecting to wake up in a cold sweat, clutching at her bed sheets in frustration. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, knowing full well that Rachel would be gone when she opened them again.

"God, the zip's stuck. Could you stop fantasising about me and come help me, perhaps?"

Quinn's eyes flashed open. Rachel was still there, staring at her expectantly.

"Me?"

She asked dumbly, pointing to herself. Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically.

"No, the ghost of Christmas past. Are you dense? You know what, forget it. This was a bad idea to begin with."

Quinn watched her lean over to collect her bag for just a moment; before she knew it her legs had jumped forward, and she was at her side, pulling her upwards by the shoulders.

"I wasn't fantasising about you."

Rachel's dubious eyes searched her own. Lies. Lies and she knew it. Really, she had promised herself to stop picturing her like that a very long time ago, but an addiction wasn't something that went away easily. Right now, she felt like she was at a meeting at icecream addicts anonymous and the organiser was giving her a whole tub of gooey caramel fudge with a hint of salt and saying, "Ok look, but no touch."

"I don't care if you were."

She said finally. The tiniest smirk graced her mouth, but it should be mentioned (for argument's sake) that Quinn had a horrible tendency to imagine things that weren't really there.

"Now unzip me before I change my mind."

She turned round, letting her arms drop to her sides. Quinn swallowed the lump in her throat.

Never in her life could she have predicted this. Never. Even when her fingers touched the zipper and began pulling it down, a part of her brain told her that when Rachel turned around again, Pennywise the clown would suddenly appear and start laughing in her face. Dreams did that to you.

She continued, being very careful not to accidentally touch Rachel's back, but then _it _happened. Rachel sighed impatiently at her snail like pace and reached back to help her, effectively pushing Quinn's knuckles onto her back so they grazed over her skin.

The quiet gasp that followed made Quinn's heart scream.

"Is it...is it unzipped yet?"

Without uttering a single word, Quinn peeled away the material from her shoulders, exposing the perfectly sculpted body that lay beneath. Oh dear Lord. She couldn't have possibly imagined the hotness of Rachel Berry in real life. All her fantasises could never match actually being in the same room with her like this. Her fingers reached out to touch her backbone off their own accord; she watched intently as they slid down its perfect form, and couldn't _help _her internal groan when Rachel shuddered and fell back into her, almost causing her to lose her balance. Her lips were practically kissing Rachel's head. That gorgeous, exotic hair was in her face, tempting her to drink in its glorious scent. And each breath Rachel took served as a cruel reminder of the distinct lack of space between them, reminded her again and again of how much she'd craved for this to happen, and now it was, except she wasn't satisfied. The material of Rachel's bra seemed to be digging harshly into her skin, therefore lessening the intensity of the moment. She desperately cleared her throat.

"Do you want me to, um..."

"No, it's...I've got it."

Each syllable she uttered made the hairs on Quinn's body stand upright, electrified by the tone of voice, and the sensation of Rachel pressed against them. The wetness spreading around her thighs was uncontrollable. Quinn hated herself for it. She was acting just like a cave woman. A neanderthal, or perhaps homo habilis, getting ready to beat their arms across their chest before some bizarre mating ritual. She was rapidly losing control of her breathing too, wondering momentarily how in the world things had escalated so quickly, but then Rachel stepped forward just a fraction to unbuckle her bra, fumbling with the hook awkwardly until there was a quiet click, and Quinn just had to watch it all like it was the most fascinating movie she'd ever seen, transfixed by the sensual movement of Rachel's hands dragging the straps past her her shoulders and over her head, smoothly slipping past her wrists then fingers, and falling down behind her on the floor with a soft thud that made Quinn want to cry.

She shut her eyes instantly, burning with ridiculous desire.

"I'll j-just go and...my paints are-"

Her whole body was shaking. She was covered in sweat. She couldn't take it anymore.

She strode out of the room in a daze, desperate for the solitary confines of her (Rachel-free) bedroom. Her hand twisted the doorknob in a frenzy; when she entered at last, she slammed the door hard and fell back against it, her angry groan unleashing all the pent up desire she'd fought to restrain.

''Fuck fuck _fuck_! What am I doing to myself!?''

It just didn't make sense that a _girl, _a dorky girl from high school who she used to (key word: used to) have a hopeless and unrequited crush on could still engender these feelings within her. In high school, Quinn hadn't just been a brilliant painter; she'd been a damn fine mathematician too, and honestly, nothing seemed to be adding up here.

Rachel Berry despised her. That she was sure of. Certain of. After all the shit she'd put the girl through it made sense. What _didn't _make sense was the fact that Rachel was supposed to despise her, yet only a few moments ago she had leaned back into her like she had been craving her touch for just as long as Quinn had been craving hers.

_And this line of thinking is precisely what makes you a lesbian, Quinn Fabray._

She exhaled heavily and broke away from the door. Quinn hated admitting it, but Rachel was right. Her eyes scanned around the room in mild disgust. The whole place looked like a bomb had hit it. She was just so busy these days that she didn't have time to clean. Her only priorities were paint, brushes, and canvasses. Acrylic paints were Quinn's favourite by far. Easy to clean, fastdrying. Water colours weren't bad either, although they did tend to come out looking a little bit flat sometimes. Her eyes trailed over to the oil paints. She certainly hadn't used those in a while, given how long they took to dry.

Before she realised what she was doing her hand reached out and grabbed them. It's not as if she had ulterior motives that involved keeping Rachel here for a few extra hours or anything like that. Quinn Fabray had too much class for that. She briefly scanned her bookshelf for the latest set of paintbrushes she'd bought. Sigh. Also horribly messy. She'd have to consider hiring a cleaner one of these days. Maybe Santana. She clutched the box tightly to her chest, the bag of oil paints occupying the other hand, and turned back to face the door.

''Rachel? Are you ready?''

She pushed the door open slowly, turning back around to shut it when she was on the other side so she could delay the inevitable for just a little bit longer.

''Quinn?''

The vulnerability caught her completely off guard. Her head swivelled around. Honestly, it wasn't her fault. This was just one of those typical knee jerk reactions she only experienced when it came to Rachel. She swallowed.

Rachel Berry, Broadway star extraordinaire, was lying down on her side on top of the ottoman with a loose sheet barely draped over the lower half of her body, and her clothing was in a neat pile on the floor below.

''I borrowed the towel thingy in the corner. I hope that's ok?''

Quinn's whole face felt like it was ablaze. Rachel's hands were positioned right over her _breasts._

Rachel's hands. Positioned. _Positioned-_

Quinn bit her lip hard. This had to be some sort of test. Had to be.

''Quinn?''

So soft. And pleading. Irresistible.

''Y-Yeah...no problem, Rach.''

Rach? Since when were they using diminutives?

She took a few hesitant steps forward until she reached the old paint bucket, and plopped down onto it, her mind swimming.

''So how do you want me?''

_Anyway I can get you._

Shit.

''Uh...'' Quinn said, clearing her throat, really, _really _hoping that the voices in her head would just go away already. She quickly set up a new canvas and watched the contents spill out of her bag. Distractions. That's what she needed right now. Her eyes darted back and forth nervously between the clock on her wall and the empty board, enticing her to begin. Her hands were shaking, dammit. This really was a rotten idea. Rotten to the core.

''Ok, ok, I know you're only doing this for the money, Quinn, so let's just get it over and done with.''

Quinn broke out of her mind lock and snatched one of the larger brushes. Rachel's impatience always found a way to make her blood boil, so she really shouldn't have been surprised at her sudden anger. She breathed out, letting all her frustrations pour out into the cream coloured mixture she had begun to create in the palette.

''I really don't mind if it's not your best even. You can just...'' Rachel swallowed, and then, ''I know you don't really approve of nudity anyhow so...''

She swirled the brush around distractedly, keeping focused on mapping out the background. It definitely needed more brown, and once again, it was no surprise that Rachel hadn't finished pissing her off in some way.

''So, um, yeah. Maybe we shouldn't do this after all. I'll just put my clothes back on and uh-''

Hardly thinking, Quinn jumped to her feet and stormed over towards Rachel furiously, and then she was yanking Rachel's hands off her breasts, arranging one on her hip and the other so it cupped her face.

''_That's _how I want you.''

She said in a single, heated breath.

Rachel gawked at her, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks.

''But...but-''

''Do you want me to paint you or not?''

Her left hand naturally gravitated to that spot on her hip, the one she was oh so familiar with back from her cheerio days. When she stared down at Rachel from this angle it felt like high school all over again. Except this time, she had her nude, in her apartment. Christ.

Why on earth could she never seem to break out of this mentality?

Rachel seemed lost for words. Like that time they were both standing in that stupid corridor and Quinn was asking her whether she had sang that song to Finn and for goodness sake! Quinn knew that Rachel was going to back out any moment now, because who was she even_ kidding_, Rachel didn't feel anything for her. And she wouldn't have felt anything for her in a million years. She wouldn't, because she was always going to be _that _girl, the one who doggedly pursued the dopey jock just like in every freaking fairytale, while Quinn would be the dead paperweight, the frog princess who never got kissed becau_-_

''You better make it good. I have certain standards, I'll have you know.''

She said, and Quinn's eyes twitched. Quinn's eyes twitched and oh. . God. The shameless arrogance of Rachel Berry had come back from the dead and it was turning her on, even after all these years. Bloody dammit. She felt herself smile at the order. She couldn't help it. Her eyes glistened with satisfaction as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

''I...I won't disappoint.'

She turned around, breathing in and out as she went back to her bucket, picked up the brush and started swirling it around in the paint again.

''Tell me, whatever happened to Yale?''

Well. She certainly hadn't been asked that in a while. She maintained her focus on creating the outline of Rachel's body, eyes flickering back and forth.

''Wasn't for me in the end.''

The tone of Rachel's skin had darkened a few shades for sure. She'd probably been tanning and-no. She didn't need the visuals.

''Why not?''

Of course she wouldn't accept Quinn's non-committal answer. When did she ever?

''I lost my muse.''

She topped the painting momentarily, letting her eyes linger on Rachel a little longer than necessary. Her tongue unconsciously ran along her lips, and Rachel visibly shivered, her legs clinging tighter to the sheet draped over them.

''I'm gonna need you to take that off, Rachel.''

Quinn said it as calmly as she could, but the single quiver voice betrayed her.

_You're pathetic. You can't even look at her without thinking about sex._

She returned her gaze to the canvas. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rachel's hand, gently pulling the white folds away from her legs and abdomen, until the sheet was off completely.

Quinn's whole body jolted forward. She had to grab the easel not to fall over.

''Quinn! Are you-''

''Fine. I'm fine.''

She choked, pressing a hand against her heart.

Her sweaty fingers tightened their hold around the brush. She had enough strength in her to do this, it was just a dumb painting anyway. A picture composed of lines and tones and colours. Yes, she'd focus on that. Then she remembered that she had to look at Rachel in order to continue.

''Fuck.''

She cried quietly, amazed at how the frequency of expletives coming out of her mouth had increased ever since Rachel stepped into the room. She turned her head forward in agony, and took just one look. It was enough.

The image burned through her head without warning. It was stuck. Stuck, like super glue. She didn't even need another second because when it came to Rachel, she seemed to have photographic memory. Every contour of her slender frame flashed through her consciousness like an animation; her cheekbones looked so soft she could melt into them, the curves of her waist, in perfect symmetry, the silky smoothness of her legs and arms and then her fingers, curling up, beckoning Quinn to come closer and touch, just once, just to feel how solid her legs really were. Her hand worked furiously, filling in the region between Rachel's legs with a darker hue as she let the visuals take over, until she didn't know what was real and what wasn't.

''Is Broadway everything you thought it would be?''

Distractions at this point were necessary, for obvious reasons. She heard Rachel sigh, like she'd been asked the same question one billion times.

''The pay's good. Better than what you're getting, I suppose.''

Quinn's head tilted to the side in annoyance.

''Ok...anyone special in your life?''

That question, unbeknownst to Quinn at the time, was going to be the beginning of her demise. The ultimate mistake in this conversation. Rachel huffed loudly.

''If someone asks me that _one _more time, I'm going to shoot them.''

''Noted.''

''Sorry, it's just ever since Finn and I broke up-and that was _years _ago-the press have been up my ass like sniffer dogs. I mean come on, what's so wrong with being single?''

The only words Quinn heard were: 'Finn', 'broke up', and 'single'.

"Nothing," She squeaked, "Nothing wrong at all."

"Exactly! Finally, somebody who understands! Do you know how rare that is in a dog eat dog profession where all they care about is who you're sleeping with? God, I wish we still had the celibacy club sometimes. Anyway, what about you? Seeing anybody?"

"Um...not really, no. Just hanging with a friend."

"Oh ok. Who?"

Quinn stopped the painting. Her fingers were trembling slightly as she touched the canvas. Something about it looked off.

"Quinn?"

"It's none of your business, Rachel."

Something in the face was missing.

"Oh come on. It's not even a big deal. I'm just curious. Can't a girl be curious?"

Quinn let out a shaky laugh.

"Put your fingers in your mouth."

"What?"

"I said," Quinn repeated, looking at the sheet on the floor because she was too embarrassed to face her right now, "Put your fingers in your mouth, Rachel."

Her eyes drifted upward cautiously, just catching the movement of Rachel's hand falling away from her cheek and angling up toward her mouth and-

and stopping.

"I'm _not _doing what you say until you tell me who this 'friend' is."

Quinn rolled her eyes. She had forgotten how stubborn Rachel could be.

"Promise you won't get angry."

"Why would I be angry at who you're spending your recreational time with?"

"Fine. It's Santana."

And then, all hell broke loose.

"_Santana!? _You went out with _Santana!?i_"

Her voice was so shrill Quinn had to block her ears. Rachel's hands broke out of position and dropped down onto the ottoman. She was heaving with absolute rage. Quinn forced herself not to smile. This shouldn't have been exciting to her. It really shouldn't.

"Rachel, can you please just-"

"No I will _not _'just' do anything! I refuse to sit here and have you paint me knowing that you went out with Santana _Lopez_! Are you out of your mind? Oh God, you probably are-all those paint fumes! Let me just remind you that she's a neurotic bitch who uses insults as a form of communication and almost succeeded in stealing one of my roles on Broadway _and_ who from what I hear has been implicated in _smuggling _Aztec statues through the borders of Colombia and Venezuela with Brittany and you-you went _out _with her!?"

"Don't forget to breathe, Rach."

Rachel scowled. She folded her arms, and sat up, eyeing Quinn with her death stare. This was far from over.

"Where'd you go?"

Quinn rested the brush against the easel and folded her arms, mimicking Rachel's posture.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. I'd just like to know."

"Well, I'd like to keep it private."

Silence. Quinn's hand reached out for the brush and-

"I won't tell anyone."

"Rachel! I don't care if you do!"

"So then tell me!"

Silence again. Quinn watched her face contort with anger, no doubt matching the expression currently stuck upon her face. Once again, Rachel Berry had worked her up like a stick of TNT. She didn't know how she did it. She just did. She hadn't felt this angry in months. No, years. In fact, she probably hadn't been this angry since that day she'd almost (key word: almost) seen Rachel get changed in the locker room. Finn was the one who had spectacularly interrupted and destroyed the moment. Of course.

"It was a bar, wasn't it?"

"Rache-"

"A club? A _gay _club!?"

Quinn clenched her teeth and finally snatched the brush.

"Yes! We went to a gay club, ok? We went to a gay club to pick up girls, is that what you wanna hear?"

Rachel's face went completely blank. For a moment, Quinn thought she'd just get up and leave. That would make a lot of sense if these was just another one of those dreams. Heck, she'd take leaving over Pennywise the clown any day. But then, Rachel was nodding and getting back into position. She coughed awkwardly.

"How did you say you wanted me?"

Quinn's entire body slumped back into a more relaxed state. Thank goodness she hadn't blown it.

"Fingers, in your mouth-like this."

She said, demonstrating with her own hand.

"Can you do that for me?"

Rachel nodded once and assumed the position she had been in before. Her fingers were finally on her lips, her mouth slightly parted. It was just enough to see her tongue, just enough to almost stop Quinn from breathing entirely.

"It should have been me."

Quinn almost lost her grip on the brush, but she kept painting the chestnut waves of Rachel's hair in broad, fluid strokes. There went her imagination, playing tricks on her again.

"It should have been me there with you. At the club."

Quinn's hand froze. Her body froze. Her brain froze.

Everything around her seemed to be going in slow motion, but rapidly, but not, which didn't make sense at all.

Her heart was beating so fast she thought she'd faint. Her eyes slowly turned to Rachel. She was staring straight back. Her eyes were dark, watching her with some indecipherable emotion.

Quinn blinked a few times. This was a dream. Dream, dream, dream.

"Oh."

She said weakly, unable to make another coherent thought. She turned back to the painting in stupor. It was almost done; she just needed to finish Rachel's...breasts.

Suddenly her brain wasn't working anymore. She had to hold onto her breath to stop herself from moaning. She couldn't ruin it now. So she did, she held in every scream she wanted to scream and continued to paint around the soft round countours, nearly convulsing when Rachel shifted slightly and flipped her luscious hair across her shoulder blades.

"Stay still."

She croaked, watching as Rachel readjusted herself accordingly. Just a few more strokes and it's be done. She kept filling in the volume, pleased at how life-like they both looked. Drops of sweat began to drip down her back. Her face was flush. One last flick of the brush and-

She fell back at last and sighed with dizzy relief.

"You can get dressed now."

"It's done? Can I see?"

Rachel had already begun to get up. Quinn's brain went haywire.

"R-Rachel! Clothes!"

"Oh...whoops."

She smiled sheepishly and quickly got dressed, pulling up her zip with apparent ease.

At that moment, something clicked in Quinn's mind; something about zippers and maths and things not adding up properly. But she was far too immersed in the moment to realise what it all meant.

"Why'd you do this?"

Rachel seemed to be momentarily preoccupied with buckling up her shoes.

"Why'd I do what?"

"Why," Quinn continued, watching Rachel stand, walk towards her and come to a sudden halt, "Did you want to be painted like that in the first place?"

Rachel looked to the side nervously.

"No reason. Can I see it now?"

"I just painted you. I think I deserve to know why."

She didn't break eye contact this time. Their perpetual battle for dominance continued until Rachel rolled her eyes, in what Quinn assumed was defeat.

"Privacy act 1.2e states that any persons of the general public wishing to obtain confidential information from performers are requ-"

"Rachel."

"Are _required _to receive permission from the said individual, who is in no way obliged to reve-"

"_Rachel._"

Quinn tapped her fingers on her arm disapprovingly.

"Fiiine."

"Fine?"

"I did it because you and Santana stopped me all those years ago. You know it always _did_ make me wonder why you came all the way from Yale to stop me exposing myself like that. I mean, it's not like I went to that student film audition deliberately just to get your attention or anything."

Quinn's mind was racing. Every single thing she'd come to believe was changing before her very eyes.

"W-Wait the paint's still wet-"

But Rachel pushed past her flailing arms and squished her way onto the paint bucket.

"Oh _wow_...this is shit."

"What?"

Rachel raised her eyebrows seriously. She didn't even crack a smile.

"Your painting is _shit._"

Quinn continued to look at her, slightly amazed at how all of this was unfolding. She gently picked up one of the brushes and dipped it into the palette. Familiar anger bubbled all the way up to her throat. The lion was unleashed.

"You're right. Perhaps you could give me some pointers?"

Her sweet smile covered her sarcasm for just enough time to smear Rachel's dress.

"Nice contrast with the black."

Rachel gasped, glancing back and forth between Quinn and the red stain on her perfect dress. And then in classic Rachel Berry style, her hand came down and slapped Quinn's thigh. Hard.

"Fuck!"

A deep groan escaped Quinn's mouth unexpectedly, her eyelids fluttering wild with pleasure.

"Sorry Quinn." She said without much sincerity, and began rubbing the area she had hit in soothing circles.

"I didn't mean that. Really. But I'm not paying for this. Your pictures in the bathroom were better."

Another click in her brain. But she was too angry to notice or care.

"I guess I'll see myself out now. Wouldn't want to impose on your quality time with turpentine."

She pushed herself up, using Quinn's leg as a brace, and locked eyes with her one last time before she began making her way over to the door.

And there it was again, Rachel walking off on her down that damn corridor, getting away with the last word.

Not this time.

Quinn sprang off the bucket and in a flash she was at the door, pinning Rachel against it.

"Wh-What are you doing?"

"What I should have done a long time ago."

Quinn secured her grip on Rachel's wrists and pressed her body closer, trapping her there.

"Let me go. Please."

"No."

"Quinn please-"

"I'm not letting you go until you answer me!"

"Answer what?"

Quinn leaned in closer, pressing her nose to Rachel's neck and letting herself indulge in the scent that been driving her mad for years.

"Does this excite you? No wait, don't answer that. That day in the corridor, were you _really _singing to Finn and only Finn? I need to know."

Rachel's silence was deafening.

"Answer me, Rachel."

She demanded, pushing her up harder against the door. Rachel tried once more to break free from her hold, but Quinn wasn't having any of it.

"_Were_ you?"

"Was I _what_?"

She hissed, and Quinn had to laugh.

"Don't play dumb. Were you singing it to him?"

"Why do you want to know that _now_!?"

"Just tell me!"

"Alright! I'll tell you. I'll tell you, Quinn. No, I wasn't singing it to him. I was singing it to...to-"

Quinn fell back abruptly, guilt suddenly washing over her.

"What?"

Rachel's hand grabbed the doorknob, twisting it quickly and pushing the door open.

"I l-lied."

She stepped out into the corridor, struggling with her feet for a moment. Quinn could only watch on in a daze. At last she understood that moment in films where the guy stands there pathetically, watching the girl of his dreams walk away from him. She always thought that if she were in his position, she'd show him how it was done. But being in it versus watching it on a screen? Very different. _Completely _different.

She couldn't budge for the life of her.

Rachel couldn't seem to either. She had come to a halt. Her fists were tightening into balls.

"I...lied, because deep down, I was afraid, Quinn."

Her words sounded raw. Totally unrehearsed and shaky. Quinn hadn't heard her sound so exposed since that night she slapped her in the bathroom. And what a fucked up way to express how she felt about her _that _was.

''What do you mean?''

"Oh don't, Quinn. Just don't. You had belittled me, and tortured me for so long, and at first it was so hard to erase all that and believe that you actually _wanted_ to be my friend...I had yearned for it, for _so _long, so even when it started happening, I'd sit down and tell myself, Rachel? You do know you're dreaming, right? You do know Quinn doesn't _really _want to be your friend, right? But then...then I started to see the real Quinn, and when I began to want more than just friendship, I..."

Quinn's mouth opened in shock. Her knees suddenly felt unstable. This couldn't be. It just couldn't _be_.

"I didn't know what to do with myself!" She cried, choking with emotion, "So I decided to run. I told myself it would pass, because I was supposed to be getting married to my _boyfriend_, and he told me he _loved_ me, and I thought I loved him too, but..what _is_ love anyway? Is it putting on a dress and a suit and proclaiming vows of respect and fidelity for one another? Is it waiting till you're twenty five to have _sex _with someone? Somebody who likes the idea of you, but is too scared that the real you has hopes and dreams he doesn't want to face? _Hopes _and _dreams, _that I was so close to _losing, _until somebody told me I shouldn't settle for less? Oh for _crying_ out loud I can't _do_ this!''

''Rachel...'' Quinn tried, but she knew it was useless. The pain in her chest had come so very unexpectedly.

''Th-That's when I realised it, Quinn. I had fallen in so deep I didn't even know what hit me. Love came and slapped Rachel Berry right in the face on prom night, and she couldn't even fucking admit it to herself. She didn't stop to think for a second about why she went after Quinn when she went off the rails, or why out of everything she'd cherished and loved about high school, the thing she valued the most was Quinn's friendship, and somehow she _still_ couldn't accept it when her almost wedding to Finn Hudson happened, and the only person she could think about throughout the whole stupid ceremony was Quinn. No. She had to wait eight fucking years before she admitted to herself that she was in love with Quinn, and that she'd probably never get the chance to tell her!''

Quinn's whole world went out of focus. She was vaguely aware of the car horns blaring faintly from outside her apartment, and some kids laughing a few doors down. Rachel's forlorn figure was bent over just a few feet from her. She seemed to be looking for some tissues in her bag, tissues that weren't there, because between the two of them they'd probably used them all up. Quinn felt tears start to well up in her own eyes.

Rachel Berry was in love with her.

Rachel _loved _her.

Rachel loved_ her_.

"Oh my God...I said it. I..."

Rachel fought back her sobs, wiping at her face with her hand.

''B-But then, then today happened. This beautiful mistake.''

At last, a tiny laugh escaped her mouth. She swallowed, like she was somehow trying to find the confidence to go on.

''This morning I burnt my toast. Then I spilled my coffee on my favourite book, and I smashed the cup I was so angry! I went to take a shower but the hot water was out, so I made it quick and jumped into my dress. I had an appointment to get to, you know? And on my way, I saw that black cat and thought, how much shittier is this day going to get?''

She paused.

''But I was wrong.''

Her body turned around slowly, so it was facing Quinn again.

''When I saw you standing there, in your shitty, dilapidated doorway, my heart came alive again Quinn. It's like I was dead the whole time, like I wasn't myself until that moment and I didn't even know it. But then you looked at me, you just _looked _at me for God's sake, and suddenly it felt like we were just Quinn and Rachel again. Rachel and Quinn. I felt whole.''

_Don't cry. Don't._

For the record, Quinn Fabray does not cry. Not since all that emotional bullshit she had endured in high school anyway. Plus, she couldn't just break down now because well, that would be totally embarrassing. What was worse, her lips were trembling, and her heart was aching so bad she couldn't stand it. She closed her eyes and began to pray.

"Quinn...please...say something? Don't shut down on me now. Please. I'd r-really...appreciate it if you replied with some sort of half-assed response? I don't know, like, you're so pathetic treasure trail. If you think I ever entertained the thought of being with you, you're even sadder than I thought you were, or even, well well. This is just priceless. Wait till Brit and Santana find out about it and we go laugh about it while we get smashed! O-or even, get real manhands, you and Finn really _are _the definitive couple-the geek and the dumb jock, forever stuck in a swamp of oblivious stupidity so thick you can't-oh for fuck's sake."

Quinn hears feet shuffling closer, and then hands grab her by the shoulders suddenly. She opens her eyes and Rachel is kissing her.

_So soft._

She pulls away slowly. Her face is downcast, but then eyes flutter up, questions written all over them, and Quinn can't respond.

She can't.

Her eyes dart from side to side instead. Blood rushes to her head in rapid streams. Her limbs quiver with years upon years of unspoken yearning that she knew were always leading up to some sort of finale like this; an inevitable crescendo of feelings that were currently pushing her forward unconsciously, right into Rachel's personal space, until her arms were irrevocably entangled in dark wavy locks, pulling her in closer and closer so that she captures her lips with a pained breath, and the universe pauses for just a nanosecond.

She can't hold back anymore.

Her tongue glosses over Rachel's mouth, but it's not close enough. She needs closer. Further, deeper. To never, ever stop.

A moan.

Toned legs press more tightly against her frame, and she knows. Small insistent hands find their way over her shoulders and loop around her neck, and she _knows _that Rachel wants her too. She's delirious. Stars and planets keep zooming past her eyes but she's moving faster still. It's expanding. The universe is stretching out exponentially and the scientists at NASA still can't see it because they haven't been kissed like this before. Ragged breaths betray her as she drags her hands down Rachel's hips, fingers hooking beneath her legs to lift her up against her own body, where she fits into place comfortably. It's so perfect, and so right, and the spell is forever cast. Her legs wrap around her so tightly she thinks her circulation will cut short, with Rachel kissing her as the only form of available oxygen, but she's so happy that she doesn't care if she dies this way.

Quinn steps backward, weighed down with the pleasurable onslaught of Rachel kissing and biting her neck inch by inch. Every touch feels like lightning. Zeus, king of the Gods himself has officially granted Rachel Berry the power to electrocute her at will, but she doesn't mind. She likes it. She groans deeply, and her hands rocket up Rachel's thighs, gripping fiercely, caressing with her fingers.

"Zipper."

Rachel breathes into her neck, and Quinn smiles.

"Right."

The black piece of metal descends down her back. It's so familiar, except this time, Rachel is eager to assist with the removal of her dress. Quinn bites her exposed shoulder and yes, Rachel presses-_forces _her body closer so that they fall down together on top of the makeshift couch in a messy heap.

_Oh God yes._

It's indescribable. Quinn's body tenses and shifts as Rachel's fingers make quick work of the buttons on her shirt. She stiffens up completely, only her chest awkwardly rising and falling in exaggerated beats, the anticipation so palpable she's not short of fainting, but Rachel's hands are cool upon her breasts. Gentle, and kind. They unravel her. Rachel unravels her. The tension slips away bit by bit, her own hands envelop the other girl's and it's fucking unreal. She can't help her self from moving her hands lower, sighing appreciatively when Rachel's mouth finds its way somewhere along her collarbone, and continues down south past the curve in her chest. Her fingers are tingling. She struggles not to let her fingers touch, touch and draw tantalising patterns across her thighs and in between them when she realises Rachel is wet. Wet for _her_. But in the next wave of realisations, she remembers Rachel loves her. Her fingers instinctively seek out her centre. She's shocked when she feels a hand stopping her.

"I'm not...having sex with you babe. Not while a shitty...nude...is watching me."

Quinn's breath catches. Rachel pushes her body off of her and begins walking to the bedroom. She deliberately avoids eye contact, but just when she's reached the doorway she looks over her shoulder and smiles. Then she disappears.

All Quinn can do is stare. And blink rapidly. Indeed, history was repeating itself yet again.

Aphrodite had just waltzed into her bedroom leaving her in a stupid daze. It was all so easy for her, afflicting all those poor mortals in her wake with her flawless perfection. Quinn got up slowly and let her legs guide her toward the door. She refused to be led like this, no matter what lay on the other side of that door. At least, that's what she thought. The moment she crossed the border, her lust filled eyes landed on the form draped across her bed.

Rachel Berry, Broadway diva phenomenon, was beckoning her with a slowly curling finger. Proceed with caution was a command that quickly got thrown out the window as Quinn Fabray embarked on the journey that was sure to ruin, ravage, and devastate her in the most wonderful way possible. Leaping on top of her shouldn't have felt so good. But it did. It was very good. More than. Thigh on thigh contact got her head in a fine frenzy that was intensified by Rachel's pleasurable whimpers. Her promise to remain in control disappeared somewhere around the time she felt a hot body meld on top of her own and the sensation of satiny fingers slipping behind the fabric of her underwear. Rachel's kisses made her growl, growl like the animal she'd become in the last few minutes of her life. She felt ferocious. The enemy warrior kept sucking her dry and stripping her so utterly of her defences and she was just letting her. She was caving. And she was helpless to do anything else.

Quasars shot through her visual field and her back arched deep into the mattress as Rachel's fingers moved within her, never slackening their pace. She could barely breathe, but she figured that's why astronauts went into space using oxygen masks and full on tanks, whereas she had entered this thing wholly unprepared.

"Rachel."

That was it. She was rasping pathetically. It was all she could do. It spilled from her lips like a final warning, because she knew that after this there was no going back. But she didn't want to.

Her hips bucked forward in pleasure as she reached her peak, a wild cry of sheer release echoed around the room, and then she was falling, plummeting down through the galaxies into Rachel's embrace. She couldn't stop it now. Her heart kept fluttering like a giddy child who had received their Christmas present a day early. Her Aphrodite knew just what to do to make her feel like the luckiest mortal in the universe.

"Paint me again, Quinn."

Came the sensual waves of her voice, filling the shell of her ear.

"Show me," Delicate whispers, hands, cradling her face with reverence, eyes that gleamed with a cocktail of desire and curiosity, "Show me what those hands can _really _do."

Quinn just smiled. Yes, it definitely would have been a massive social faux pas to turn down an opportunity like this.

Definitely.


End file.
